


if there is a place further from me, i beg you do not go

by taoslefteyelid



Category: EXO (Band), Z.Tao (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Blood, M/M, Music Video: Obsession (EXO), No one dies though, i feel like this is grounds for me needing a therapist but yolo am i right, not physically at least, so prepare yourself, the working title of this fic was, there is no explicit sex but there are implications that it is Happening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taoslefteyelid/pseuds/taoslefteyelid
Summary: “Please don’t go,” 68 wants to say. “The time we have left together is not much. Please sit with me and let me love you a little longer. I will go hungry tonight. I only want one last look at you. It’s all I need. Please stay, please forget a bit of yourself in me, please let me hold you.”
Relationships: Huang Zi Tao | Z.Tao/Oh Sehun
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	if there is a place further from me, i beg you do not go

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone I am back again with a drabble about an extremely niche concept that I've had in my head since the Obsession concept was unveiled. Does this mean I will eventually write a MAMA/Obsession AU? Who knows. I sure as hell don't.  
> My actions being a mystery to me aside, this is sort of a take on a grey-area version of taohun; neither perfect copies of the "original" Zitao and Sehun they were based on, nor very evil– yet. I mean technically if they have a shipname it's 6894, but I digress.  
> Please enjoy this mess of me rambling into a word document at three am, thank you.

They both know it’s coming. 

Experiments 68 and 94 both know what happens to them. They run from the lab together, with the memories of the people they’re based on, and the knowledge of the people they’re meant to become. 

They know how it ends before it begins, they know how it ends when they stumble into the fully furnished small cottage inexplicably in the forest of the back hill, they know how it ends when Experiment 94 sobs for Experiment 68 to stay awake, because he has a concussion and everything sucks. 

When they sit out on the porch a week later for the first rainstorm of the season, cuddling for warmth, holding tea that Experiment 68 made on a whim, when Experiment 94 chases Experiment 68 around the kitchen island with a playful gust of wind and they’re both laughing, when Experiment 94 is pressed under Experiment 68 on their rickety bed that shouldn’t exist really, desperately whispering something about  _ need _ .

They know what comes. They wish they didn’t. 

\---

It first starts with 94. The winds that exist in their house only to gently caress 68 start getting more violent. He blacks out for exactly one hundred and sixty two seconds, and comes to only to find paper strewn all over the floor. He has no idea where the paper comes from, but he does know this. 

He’s starting to lose control. 

\---

68 is next, in the middle of chopping wood for their fireplace. He starts at noon, and chops and chops, goes inside to give 94 a hug and a kiss, because he knows how shaken up he is after the paper incident, has a glass of water, and then comes out to chop again. Two hours, three hours, a fourth. 

He glances down at the wristwatch he found in the study, checking to see if it’s time to start with dinner yet. 

It’s 12:03 p.m. 

He races inside, and checks the clock on the wall, and the one on the mantelpiece, and the one in their bedroom. Too many clocks. 

They all say 12:03 p.m. 

\---

“Please,” 94 mumbles out, almost incoherent. Tears stream down his face as 68 hovers over him, in a similar emotional state. 94 gasps. “Faster.” 

Their fingers brush over each other, somewhere between the void where they aren’t touching. 94 grabs onto 68’s hands, unwilling to let go. His nails dig into 68’s hands as 68 moves inside him. 

“Gege,” an old remnant of the person he is based on. “Gege, please, I- I don’t-” 

68’s face looks pained, even as he brings 94’s hand to his lips. 

“I’ve got you,” is lost on 94. He is too blissed out and hurting at the same time to pick up on the gentle desperation of that, the pleading, the hidden “stay with me” and the “I wish  _ I  _ could stay with  _ you _ ” and the “why does this end please god why does this have to end I don’t want it to end I want you always and I want to have you and love you and I want to be me so I can love you the way I was meant to please please please don’t go too far from me please I will try my best but will you too can you please tell me you will too”. 

“I don’t want to leave,” 94 echoes, without hearing what he is echoing because his head is thrown back and his back is arched and his eyes have tears in them. “Please, gege, I don’t- don’t let me leave, don’t let me- gege, please, please,  _ please _ .” 

There’s a sob, and then a keen. They’re both wholly each other’s right now, unable to tell where one ends and the other begins.

But for how long?

\---

The last day is sunny, nothing like the rainy days they like to enjoy together sitting outside. They sit outside anyways, 94 playing with 68’s fingers nervously. The air grows more agitated by the second.

68’s hands are shaking more and more, sparking gold every few minutes. He tries to hide it, to not worry 94, to pretend that he gets to be here for longer, that he gets to love him for longer. Time is moving too fast, and it’s not just his powers malfunctioning. 

94 kisses him on the cheek, gently, and rises, palm against 68’s as he says something about making dinner today instead. 

_ “Please don’t go,” _ 68 wants to say.  _ “The time we have left together is not much. Please sit with me and let me love you a little longer. I will go hungry tonight. I only want one last look at you. It’s all I need. Please stay, please forget a bit of yourself in me, please let me hold you.”  _

But he doesn’t. He can only ask 94 for so much. They will eat well together tonight, and he will feed 94 with love and then they both will do the dishes, and maybe they will end up making out on the couch before going to bed, wrapped up in each other, and they will love each other fully. 

68 stares at his fingers, still occasionally sparking gold, and worries, and then stops, and then worries again. He knew this was coming. They both did. Always have. 

Then, the wind suddenly worsens, glass cracks, and 94 screams. 

68 is on his feet before everything fully registers, scrambling in, tripping over the welcome mat that has been there before they were, and he falls. It doesn’t fucking matter, it doesn’t. He crawls before managing to stand and run to the kitchen, ignoring his screaming knees. 

94 turns around when he hears the noise, and 68 realises just how violent the wind is in the kitchen, before he notices the  _ blood _ . 

It’s all over 94’s face, seemingly originating from his right eye, hidden behind his hand. 68 see the broken window behind 94, feels the wind speed up, and puts two and two together. 

He surges forward, in an attempt to pull 94 close to him, to get a better look at the wound, before 94 yells. 

“ _ No,”  _ and it’s so desperate that 68 stops in his tracks. “No, please, I can’t control this, I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you, not you, please.” 

68 looks at how 94 is shaking, how he clings to the kitchen island, how the blood is everywhere, staining his clothes and his skin and his hair and 68 can’t stand by like this. 

He rushes forward, and he can feel a gust of wind push at him, hard, but he doesn’t care. His hands reach 94’s face, trying his hardest to get a better look at his injury. It looks like he had his eyes closed when the shard of glass found his face, which thankfully means that he gets to keep his eye, from what 68 can tell.

He’s losing blood too fast, and he’s panicking, trying to push 68 away. Mumbling something about how it’s finally happening, and he doesn’t want it to. 

It takes another few seconds until 68 manages to gather himself enough to push his power into 94. Gold tendrils snake their way down from his fingers to 94’s wound, speeding up the time it takes to heal, until there’s nothing left but a dark scar. It’s going to stay forever.

68 ignores the way he’s sparking everywhere, the way the gold sparks are flying all over the room, gathering 94 in his arms. They’re both crying at this point, less from pain and shock and more from the admission that this is it, it’s over for them. 

94 cries, letting 68 support his whole weight, clinging to him even though he’s sparking, like he’s about to explode and bring the entire concept of time down with him. The scar doesn’t hurt, 68 took care of that, but what’s happening now is so much worse. 

“Don’t let me go,” he sobs, and he’s gotten blood all over 68, but neither of them care. It’s not like they’re going to do laundry anyways. “Don’t let me go, don’t leave me and let me go, please, please, I’m starting to forget, please, I don’t want this.”

“I know,” is all 68 can offer, through sobs of his own. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, please don’t go too far when you do, I won’t be able to stand it if you do.” 

94 shudders in his hold, clinging tighter, drawing a shaky breath, and then another, and then another. 

“My name is Oh Sehun,” he pushes out, lying through his teeth. He is Experiment 94. An inbetween. Never meant to exist. “My name is Oh Sehun, my name is Oh Sehun, my name is Oh Sehun, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, my name is Oh Sehun, I’m your Sehun, you’re Huang Zitao, and I love you, I- I love you, please, please don’t let me leave, please, I just want to stay with you, I love you, I love you, my name is Oh Sehun-” 

Over and over again, lying as they both slump to the floor, holding each other like their lives depend on it, trying to convince himself he is more than what he got, that they are more than the time they had, that they ever had a chance. 68 cries, and 94 clings to him, repeating the same things over and over again, trying to ground them both, but failing. 

Later they will get up, clean each other up, cry a little more in the shower together. They will cook one last meal together, they will eat well together, and they will hold hands the whole time. They will go to the little clearing by their cottage and they will cry some more and dance for the moon and each other and they will go inside when the wind gets too much and they will realise time hasn’t passed. 

And then they will kiss each other, over and over again, because these are their goodbyes, these are their “if there is a place further from me, I beg you do not go”s, these are the last remnants they have of who they wanted to be. They will kiss each other’s lips and fingers and necks and stomachs and the soft part of the inside of each other’s thighs, and they will cry as they do it. 

“I love you,” they will say, over and over again. They were not made to love. Neither were the people they will become when it finally shifts. 

They have to convince themselves they’ll find a way to do it anyways. 

They will lie against each other and they will hold each other and they will think about everything they’ve ever done together, and they will be tangled so desperately in each other they won’t know who belongs to who. 

It will end with the two of them starting to fall asleep, unable to stay awake anymore, and 94 will look at 68 and tell him to please always love him the same, and 68 will tell 94 to please stay in whatever small way he can. They will kiss one last time and their eyes will close, as they’re woven together like the timelines 68 sometimes shows 94. 

Another version of them exists somewhere, a version with names, a version that gets to love. Another version of them will exist after this too. But this one, this version of them, does not get more than this. No names, no answers. Just each other and too little time. 

They were never meant to exist for so long, anyways. 

\---

Sehūn and Zitaø wake up tangled in each other, with the kind of fleeting memory that accompanies a dream of how they ended up here. It wasn’t a dream, but it feels like it. After all, how do you face another version of yourself, so filled with anguish and love, without going insane, if you don’t pretend it’s a dream? 

They don’t withdraw immediately, and spend a minute just looking at each other. 

_ If there is a place farther from me, I beg you, do not go. _

It rings in their ears and it’s obvious then that they’re supposed to be in love, but they have no idea how that’s even supposed to work. Perhaps love means gently untangling yourself from each other and silently making the bed together. They can try. 

When they’re done, Sehūn is buzzing, the power of the Red Force surging through his veins. The dreamlike feeling is quickly fading.

He turns to Zitaø.

“We have work to do.”

Love can wait. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Shoutout to Frank O'Hara for the title and the ~vibe~ of this. You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/hztwsx) and [Tumblr](https://taohun.tumblr.com). Please have a great day!


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